Strike Three Kennels’ 2006 Odyssee Journal
December 29, 2005
Happy Holidays to you all! It’s great to be back in the saddle and we’re thrilled Tim’s been invited to participate in the race! We feel very fortunate to be able to do this again. This year’s roster will include a handful of folks returning from last year and some new faces as well; current info is available at www.grandeodyssee.com but I personally have not checked out la website too well for fear of throwing myself into a tailspin (although it seems to be happening quite successfully on its own) or just throwing up. Nonetheless, let’s play catch-up....
The dogs have about 40,000 miles on them, Tim got a sharp stick in his eye last week and finally his new sled showed up just two days ago and the runners came yesterday. Whew! He opted to go with a different type of sled this year due to the curvy, steep terrain of the trail. This new beauty folds in half, or folds flat I should say, and is very flexible, high and short which HOPEFULLY will help him come ‘round the mountain in a less terrifying manner. Of course the sled isn’t folded flat when in use, just for transport (preaching to the choir, but you never know who knows just what). He’s taking it out tonight for the first time and frankly, no would do, mon frere; it’s weightless, windy, dark and slippery, the dogs will be turning inside-out and the trail leaving our yard is ripe with eye-level sticks (see above). Add some threatening music, vicious trident wielding volunteers and you’ve got yourself a video game. Tim just walked in and asked me to come along, “but I’d hate to kill you before we even left the yard”… My brows are knit, too.
Prudence, Kiwi and Abbey are staying home this time, and Tim’s got some decisions to make; we’re expecting white smoke out of his chimney any day now. In the mean time, it will be Banjo, Gilligan, Dave, Eleanor, Steve, Mr. Kite, Poo, Jonas, Gilligan, Thurston, Professor, Dee and Toast.
In other dog yard news…
+ 
=
Dave Eleanor Lots of puppies!
Buddy Sexy Sadie Tip Top Scatman Spots More Spots
Contessa Penelope Honey JuniorNot three, not six, not nine, but ELEVEN puppies, and Eleanor proved to be a good mama; great job, Eleanor!
In other animal news, Tim reached under his pillow one night and found a hard boiled egg; next, a raw turkey neck (oh! that wondrous Thanksgiving Day garbage!). Someone’s got a secret Santa, and I think you’ll agree his smile is glorious. Dear Zeus, maestro of uncontrollable affection and gas, I thought it was me you loved!
The HotWheels of sleds
SLED UPDATE: Success; he only wiped out once. Unfortunately, Tim heard “Crazy Train” out there via the MP3 player and he’s taken it all the wrong way; now he’s off to the TV room for a jog on the treadmill and just ran back upstairs demanding I punch him in the gut over and over…of course I enjoyed it. Tim is so focused at this point that he hasn’t noticed an obvious shelving addition in our kitchen and eye contact will be out of the question in a matter of days.
December 30, 2005
No running dogs tonight; Tim’s been called in on an emergency, and if it’s any consolation (for him), there have been SO MANY snowmobiles hiving around our house today that I don’t see how he could have made it to any dog trails without an encounter.
Honestly, not much to report, except my son has once again shattered my world by saying that Zeus is my “Buster”. Does anyone watch Arrested Development?
Here are a few pictures of the cargo plane from last year…
I was scared But this helped
And to all a good night!
January something, 2006
On the road to Avoriaz
The bib draw was Saturday night in a smoky, deafening disco here at the resort. Barry White was encouraging the tipsy, forgettable romances about to occur while we shouted at each other; “OH MY GOD THIS CHEESE IS DELICIOUS TRY THE SALAMI” “WHAT?” “I SAID TRY THE” “WHAT? WHY WOULD YOU FOLLOW ME?” “NO, TRY THE – DID YOU EAT A TART YET?” “HUH? IS THIS MEAT?” After much accidental bumping and grinding our way to the exit, we went home to bed and must have looked like something from Night of the Living Dead trying to walk back up the hill in the dark to our place; arms extended, Frankenstein gait, GAAAA, AAAAAGH, GAAA… The time change really messed us up and we couldn’t get our act together for a couple days. Tired, tired, tired and Tim on the cusp of a sore throat.
January 8, 2006
Staging area in Avoriaz
The race start was great – late afternoon, a tangerine sunset, hot wine and healthy dogs. The course went through the ski village, up through the mountains and back through the village again; very manageable. Unless you’re Nick Akers, of course. He smashed into a piece of metal maybe half a kilometer from the start and thusly released his knee from any obligation it had to the ligaments holding it in place. He’s done. It’s a cruel shame, as Nick says, and he’ll go back to Great Britain on Friday.
Tim, the Continental T- N- T I love Gilligan!
Steve Gilligan
Waiting to go to the start Life is good
The first leg on Sunday was short; Tim doesn’t want to know times or standings and after all, it is a very long race and anything can happen. After the first two days it became clear that Jacque Philip and Emil E. would be neck and neck the whole way; first Jacque would come through a checkpoint like a bullet train, and then Emil; snow whipping up from his runners and only a contrail left in his wake.
Monday brought us to Le Gets (Lay Zhjetz), where a little boy, maybe seven or eight, struck up a conversation while I tried to snack the dogs staked out on the truck. “Peter” spoke to me first in French, then perfect King’s English; very comical coming from someone without front teeth and their mittens on a string. He was like a machine gun with the questions and it struck me that there wasn’t an adult in sight, save for myself; “Are your parents here, Peter? Did you come with your parents to this town for a ski vacation?” He was trying to climb in the back of the truck. “Nah-ooo, m’parrintz ‘ave doid, ahnd ah liv wiff m’bruvvah. M’ ahwldah bruvvah; yes, he’s a ski-ah, and we-ah hee-ah togethah.” Hmmmmm. “Well, where do you go to school? What grade are you in?” “Yes, wehww, Ah doen gahw tuh schooooooooool; may oi giv this one a Digestive? A biscuit? Oi suspect it’s ape-ri-coht, but perhaps it’s chock-lit; yes, wehww, this one’s quite cheeky then, don’t you think?” MY GOD – HE’S BEEN KIDNAPPED BY A MAN HE’S GROWN TO BELIEVE IS HIS BROTHER was my first thought as he kept at it, milling about in his colossal snow pants. Then - his gig was up; “Pee-tah!....Pee-tah!.....PEE-TAH!” and off he ran as his mother scolded him from a second-story kitchen window.
On an unrelated note, the trail remains highly “technical”; we’re only a couple days into the race and Magali Philip’s in a cervical collar and Emil E. has dropped out; Benoit B. found Emil hanging by his feet from the crotch of a tree, unable to feel his body, blurry, dim spots his only vision. Apparently he was thrown from the sled when he hit some ice at the bottom of a steep hill on a blind curve. Benoit and Daniel J. got him to the ground, someone else warned the oncoming mushers of the scene around the bend and by the time the E.M.T.s arrived, ten teams had put their race aside to help Emil. He spent the night in the hospital, very banged up, but he’ll be all right. On a certain level, in this sport anyway, you come to expect the occasional broken wrist, black eye, dislocated anything; but a potentially paralyzing accident made us all sick. How could we be so out of touch with the idea of an incident from which you could never recover?
Almost forgot - here’s the team: Banjo, Dee, Professor, Gilligan, Thurston, Toast, Pancake, Poo, Dave, Steve, Eleanor and Mr. Kite. They’re doing a spectacular job. Pancake’s in heat and refuses to walk when she’s out of her kennel; we’ve been giving her the rickshaw treatment, as I call it, carrying her up, down and all around in her little shark-skin cape (the Emperoress’ new clothes - so what if it is a shiny maroon dog jacket! ). The boys are embarrassing themselves vying for her affections
Somewhere in this first half of the race we spent the night in Abondance; their “cheese of the village” is magnificently delicious and on a highly successful mission to the butcher not only did I ask for, and get, “beef gristle”, but a big, stinkin’ wedge of that cheese which festered deliciously in my luggage for a week; no chicken breast incident this year!
Waiting for our room Abondance! Detail, detail, detail
January 15, 2006
The second leg of the race starts this morning, and try as I might to stay current with this we’ve had not a moment’s rest and trying to find a phone or internet connection has been a chore in itself. And obviously not successful.
Magali’s on the mend, cervical collar off, and the trail for this half should be manageable for everyone. The rules state that if a musher is unable to complete a leg of the race, he or she cannot finish ahead of any musher who has completed all legs of the race; as a result, Peter Carlsson and Magali will finish at the back of the pack, no matter what. Peter had a really, really fast team, too, but illness (either in the team or Peter) struck and voila.
Tim leaves fifth today, still wearing bib number nineteen. They’ll go up to the polar base, stay for the afternoon and then make their way back down again; maybe eighty three kilometers total; he’ll take ten dogs for every leg from here on out.
Okay, time to hit the road. Tim has to finish the wax job on the runners and then off we go to the start. More later.
January 16, 2006
Yesterday’s run was FAST. I picked them up in Sallieres and after ANOTHER delicious feast we headed back to our apartment in Val Cenis.
ATTENTION SKIERS: a week long lift ticket at this resort is 90 euros, or roughly 70 dollars; a SEASON ski pass is 130 euros, and it’s the most beautiful terrain you’ll ever want to see; I imagine the ski apartments are reasonable, as well.
.
In any event, today we started at 3pm after YET ANOTHER delicious lunch, which was a regional specialty that tasted very similar to finely ground pasty innards – SPECTACULAR. Upon investigation, though, I learned it was pork, leeks, carrots and cabbage. It must be steamed in an empty can of some sort, and then sliced. I don’t know how we can keep up the food pace! And tonight, a handler “soire” as the mushers have an overnight camp-out at Base Polare.
All right; battery’s dying; Tim and train on the way to the polar base and they looked great. OH! It was a mass start today in Bessans. IT WAS INSANE.
Later that day……………
I know this is supposed to be about the race, but the food at the handler bash must be known; first course: greens, croutons, ever-present cherry tomatoes, ever-present vinegairette, ever-present shredded carrots and some kind of pinkish-brown meat that had no grain. After two heapin’ helpins’, I asked Sylva (the handler from last year who told me we were eating donkey, squirrels, etc.) what the “meat” was and he said, “I done know the name, but eet eez a beerd zay make eade zeh stone, then force feed it grainz, and now we eat zee stomach!” “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” say I as it
slides on down, “what is it, for real?” “AHAHAHAHAHA-HA haha… ha… ha… haWHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!” Yup. On to the next course. Raclette. A sizzling hot contraption is brought to the table, along with boiled potatoes, tiny pickles (cornichons) and an assortment of dried cured meats. The machine melts the Raclette cheese, and when it’s JUST RIGHT you pour it over your potatoes and keep going. “Suddenly you will reach a moment when you know you’ve had enough.” My dinner partners had to coach me through the process, and then after I’d had 400 rounds of the stuff they told me I had to have schnapps and hot tea to melt the molten wad that lay like a sinker in my gut. What a beautiful mess. Amazingly, the cheese has the odor of (what I imagine to be) a corpse, stuffed with old pillowcases and drizzled with honey. Repulsive, yet I couldn’t back away. And to finish it all off, snow white real ice cream with chocolate shaves and other-worldly cherry sauce. Bon appetite!
January 17, 2006
They didn’t have a good run. They made a wrong turn, I went to the wrong town and Gwen made a bunch of time on Tim. Cross your fingers.
January 18, 2006
Back up to Base Polare; it’s an unassisted checkpoint, meaning the mushers are forbidden assistance from their handlers or anyone – not even a dry pair of socks; you best plan ahead or you’re sh*t out of luck. It’s incredibly windy, sunny and cold today; every speck of flesh had to be covered on the chairlift up to the top, and once there you’d better keep moving or else; none-the-less, it was a beautiful place to spend the afternoon, thanks to proper attire and the knowledge that although most folks would find these conditions a nightmare, Tim and the dogs love it; maybe he can make up some of the time he lost.
On the chairlift – what a ride!
January 19, 2006
TIM NEEDS TO MAKE UP FIVE MINUTES AND SOME CHANGE IN 70 KILOMETERS FOR THIRD PLACE. HANG ON! OKAY – JUST SAW HIM GO BY GWEN ON HIS HEELS IT’S A TRUE RACE TO THE END. JUST HEARD TIM MADE FIVE ON GWEN BY LANGSLEVILLARD – STILL SOME
TIME TO GO – GOING TO THE FINISH LINE TO WAIT
LATER…….
WOW. Seven seconds. The tension was palpable at the finish – we knew Tasha was coming in soon and two teams after her (Gwen and Tim), and nobody knew who was coming first. After Tasha came through it was almost too much to bear – a tight downhill curve occluding the approach to the finish line so much so that you had no idea who was at the end of the string of dogs barreling down. Then I saw them. Steve and Dave and the bright orange harnesses and the crowd blew up with cheers, I was crying, jumping and shouting, “IT’S HIM! IT’S HIM! IT’S HIM!” and around the curve he came, a happier man you’ve never seen. He hooked down and was kissing everyone, the dogs were rolling in the snow, the elation tangible and pervasive; I’m shaking and choked up writing about it. Gwen showed up five minutes and forty two seconds later. They did it with seven seconds to spare.
Daybreak in the Alps; the last leg
January 21, 2006
We’re in Chicago now after a wonderful flight; Tim fell asleep right after take off and turbulence woke him up twenty minutes before we landed; I enjoyed another four-course meal with the dashing Captain, who also pointed out Normandy, Jersey, the English Channel and other landmarks as I sat behind him in the cockpit; how can we be so lucky to have these experiences? How is it that we saw a spot on earth where so much history took place from the cradle of a cockpit? The Captain loves his job; he told me, “If I had my life to make, I would choose the same again”. So would we.
More Race Pictures
Copyright 2006 DrTims.Com Hosted by IronBay.Net